March through December in Exile
(pastoral)
March:
Winter still locks.
My mouth, encased with ice.
But—
a crocus!
April:
The old poems and the letters
you wrote to him. It's not precognition
but repetition.
Ivy isn't the only plant that creeps.
May:
Today I am collecting names of plants.
Hypoxis hirsuta. Panax cinquefolium.
Viola sororia. Anemonella thalictroides.
And the humble Cicuta maculata.
The Latin fits in my mouth oddly,
like greased marbles.
June:
A little dog, digging for rabbits
in the meadow. Such a sign of habit
in this enclosed space! I felt like saying,
"I can't see you, but I see your dog."
July:
A harvest--strawberries.
Sharp and clean, the taste of
sandy soil.
I remembered the seven hundreth
name of the Goddess today. And howled.
August:
Tonight after moonflower-time,
horses thundered across the meadow.
And in the sky--oh, the lightning!
September:
I am growing fur in place of feathers.
The winter might be cold.
The cat grooms me as we lie in the sun.
October:
The first whispers of their approach.
Sweep the stoop. Think about faces.
November:
I am surrounded by the invisible once more.
Hands unseen help make dinner
and play with fire in the barn.
At the well, an oracle.
They ask me about flowers.
December:
The light struggles in;
even here,
solstice comes slowly.
The morning trembles.
Doves fluff and coo.
Did you know that the roots of lilacs are unstoppable? I didn't. I hope you are alive, still.
love,Ariane
Hypoxis hirsuta: Eastern Stargrass
Panax quinquefolius: Wild Ginseng
Viola sororia: Hairy Violet
Anemonella thalictroides: Rue Anemone
Cicuta maculata: Water hemlock
1994
